A Ride She Wouldn't Survive
by sunshine and lollipops
Summary: So...here's the multi-chapter (5ish) Robert California/Erin Hannon fic that nobody asked for ;) Lost souls connecting, that sort of thing.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note & Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimer – I don't own anything related to _The Office_ , its plotlines, its characters, this is a work of fanfiction, etc.

So…I'm currently rewatching this show (currently deep in S8 right) and listen, I love Andy/Erin, I do.

 _However,_ am I the only one who maybe, kinda, has a small thing for post-Boston Legal, out-of-shape James Spader? He plays the creepy/sleazy thing so well. And hello, _Stargate_ back in the day was one of my faves so, ya know, whatever…baby Spader was dreamy.

Anyway, watching the Christmas episode where Erin gets drunk and Andy's kinda a heartless jerk (plus stalker much?) and well, this fic happened…

 **Chapter 1 – The Party**

He's not sure what he expected to happen when he gave her his condescending little lecture on leaving cola in the kitchen, taking life by the horns, embracing her adventurous spirit, that sort of thing…but Drunk Erin is charming. Every time she comes back for another drink (and another), she easily teases another smile (and another) from Robert California, her all-too-willing bartender.

She surprises him with the way she knocks that first shot back. And then with the determined, dead-serious way she says "hit her up" and then "another"…oh he's not sure what he's unleashed.

With her inhibitions lowered, her default tendency to say whatever her audience wants to hear and believe whatever they try to spoon feed her diminishes to the point of blunt truth and brutal honesty. And yet her happy, bubbly personality remains firmly intact, energy as high and strong as the spirits he serves her. It's a fascinating display.

She dances—grinning, twirling, singing along to the music…and inevitably wanders back over to his makeshift bar, leaning up against the podium or slyly sidling up beside him, asking for "another alcohol". Her hair soon comes down from the messy half-bun and falls in beachy, red waves around her shoulders. Her shoes come off, tossed in a corner, and her festive green skirt spins and twirls with every song she dances to—she gets the others onto the dance floor too. Her infectious spirit somehow makes the tawdry decorations and godawful music playing in the conference room nearly bearable.

More than bearable, if he's being honest.

He overhears what she says to Andy and finds himself somewhat titillated by the unexpected words spilling out of her mouth.

 _Andy, hey, wanna know my Christmas wish?_

 _Okay…?_

 _I wish Jessica was dead._

 _Ahh…I think you mean you wish Jessica wasn't here or something._

 _No, I wish she was in a graveyard. Under the ground…_

And then she grins widely. It's utterly refreshing. And charming. And sad, all at once.

Robert can't decide which description fits best really. But he also finds that he can't take his eyes off Erin all night, watching her dance and laugh and make a fool of herself, all with that genuine, eager manner that he usually finds so…saccharine. Now it seems playful and…well, to suddenly see the receptionist in this new way is intriguing to him. A part of him would very much like to see how far down this gin-flavored, martini-saturated rabbit hole she'll go and where exactly it might lead.

But he's not a monster, of course. Far before Andy's mention of "oatmeal" that had Kevin wildly salivating, Robert makes a conscious decision to curb the little red-head's plummeting descent into black out drunkland. He starts watering down her drinks after the third drink, because she's already heavily buzzed after that second shot.

And Drunk Erin is far too amusing and fascinating to let slip away into a boring old stupor.

Robert's glad he decided to attend the Scranton office Christmas party tonight. The black-hole of misery he was feeling all week has lessened somewhat. He finds himself sufficiently distracted from his train-wreck marriage and the mixed bag of other grievances typically buzzing around his head. And, with smug self-awareness that's rarely wrong, he recognizes that Erin's the main reason for his distraction.

So when Andy starts in with typical ex-boyfriend resentment and blame and Erin answers with typical ex-girlfriend jealousy and hurt, Robert turns over his drink-making duties to Oscar. He steps out from behind the bar and takes Erin by the arm smoothly, saying, "Come on, Erin, let's you and I take a walk."

She accepts the gentle pressure of his other hand, as he lets it drop to her waist suavely, pressing on the small of her back and leading her from the conference room. She accepts the motion as easily as she's accepted his drinks all night.

She doesn't say much as they descend in the elevator and almost nothing as they take a slow, cold turn around the parking lot. She's angry with Andy and that anger is focusing her mind, sharpening her senses and stealing away all the delightful fuzziness of the prior hours.

Robert's not ready to let her slip back into plain, old depression. It's boring down there. And he's quite certain if she goes, he goes. He's not ready to return to misery just yet.

"Your heart is broken," he sighs finally, breaking the silence. "So is mine…"

"And?" Erin looks at him expectantly, her wide eyes a much darker shade of brown under the orange glow of streetlamps. They look almost violet.

"And what?" he replies.

"And do you have any advice or anything to make me feel better?" she wonders, her hands fidgeting in the pockets of her wool jacket. She's not shivering—she has too much alcohol in her system to feel the chill in the December night, even though her breath escapes in white puffs. She tips her head earnestly on the question, thinking that's why he brought her out here in the cold and icy parking lot—to share his master wisdom.

"Oh God, no," he huffs a wry laugh, his gaze flickering on the glittering night sky ( _God, the stars are always so smug in their heavens, aren't they?_ ) and then back to her, "I've been married thrice and each has ended in an acrimonious divorce. I'm not sure I'm the best person to give love advice, do you?"

He decides that he'll appeal to her honest nature, which he's seen on display all night and which currently speaks to him, loudly and on an oddly, deeper level than he ever would have expected, "I was hoping you were going to make _me_ feel better."

She looks confused for a moment, narrowing those brown eyes. She's not used to being asked for anything but copies and coffee, both of which she's habitually hopeless at. But then the gin from that last martini kicks in and he's granted another beaming, pretty smile. She thinks he's making a joke. He doesn't care what she thinks, as long as she smiles.

That's all it takes. One smile and his mood lightens within seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** To my guest commenter - um riiiiiiight? I never really thought of this pairing before now but after watching that Christmas episode again, I was all like, mmhmm, okay. Let's explore. And on that note, here's chapter two :)

Thanks for reading dahhlings! Xo

 **Chapter 2 – Corvette Chit-Chat**

Robert drives Erin home. He's one of the few sober partygoers left and Andy promised Meredith a ride as part of his dumb Christmas make-a-wish program.

Erin wouldn't let him drive her home anyway, even if he asked. She currently has _no_ interest in talking to Andy ever again. Like, ever. All night, he's made her feel stupid and small and then he paraded Jessica in front of her at the party when he knew she still…ughhh, she hates all these feelings.

She hates herself for feeling them. So she decides not to think about Andy at all. She decides to let her mind wander elsewhere. Far, _far_ elsewhere.

"I kinda wanna do something crazy, don't you?" Erin mentions on the way to her house. They're in Robert's car, which is as fancy and expensive as she expected, with black leather seats, red trim and smooth mahogany accents running the length of the dashboard. Still a little tipsy, she's energetic, bouncing in her seat a little, head swaying with the quiet jazz Robert's radio dial is currently fixed on. She adds Christmas lyrics to the saxophone and bass medley and sings along in her head. _Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell—rock!_

It sort of works, though it would be easier if he just listened to Christmas music like everybody else.

Seeing a familiar street name ahead, she adds helpfully, "Take a left up there."

"I think it's a little late in the night for crazy…," Robert gives her a sly half-grin as he answers, his hands sliding smoothly over the leather-covered steering wheel, taking the curve in stride. His tone says he's watching out for her, but his grin says something else entirely.

Her normal, automatic response would be a hesitant: _Oh, okay._ And she'd let it go, allowing the moment to pass and wondering if she said the wrong thing. Again. She's always saying the wrong thing.

Inwardly, she groans at her typical response. Oh, but she doesn't care if she says the wrong thing tonight. She doesn't care at all.

And besides, Robert California is speaking complete nonsense. She calls him out on it.

"No, you don't," Erin looks at him skeptically. She may be gullible ( _ugghhhh, so gullible sometimes_ ) and Robert California is an enigma, sure, but some elements of his personality are too obvious. He seeks out crazy and revels in chaos. He craves anything that breaks the routine. She wonders what it's like to be him, smartest man in the room, watching it all play out with a heavy mixture of casual interest, or boredom…and maybe a little loneliness. She insists, "You never think it's too late for crazy."

"Maybe not for me," he replies. "But for you…yes, it is."

"C'mon, Bobby," she teases, leaning over, her hand sliding up his upper arm to drape at his neck as she whispers in his ear. "Let's drive to Canada."

She knows he likes her touch. His face is illuminated by the next street lamp they pass under and she can read it on his face. She likes that he likes it.

He mutters coyly, "Canada? Not New York or Philadelphia? Canada is your destination of choice?"

"Whatever," she shrugs off his minor chiding, satisfied with her choice. She can't hold the sultry pose for long—she's too drunk to keep that sort of focus. Though the smell of his aftershave is pleasantly foreign and she finds herself taking a deep breath as she slips away from his shoulder, sliding back into the passenger seat while talking with her hands. "Canada's flag has a maple leaf on it, right? So their hotel breakfasts have to have maple syrup on the menu and I _love_ maple syrup."

"Do you?" Robert seems amused. He's been amused all night. By _her_. It's an interesting development. She's never been able to amuse him before. In the past, when he's come into the office, his mood has always bordered on unimpressed. He's found her tolerable at best and tiresome at worst. Half of their conversations up until this moment have been lectures by him on her general lack of…well, there's a laundry list.

 _Erin, when you recount your day—never say you woke up. It's a waste of your time. That's how every day has begun for everyone since the dawn of man…_

She never takes offense. She knows he's not amused by much. And knowing that she currently has the power to tease however many grins and half-laughs from this enigmatic man at her pleasure kind of thrills her. She rarely has power over anyone. Let alone a man like Robert California.

His question is rhetorical and doesn't require a response. Still, she gives him one.

"Yeah, I do," she nods vigorously, adding, "With waffles especially."

He laughs fully, a robust sound in the small, dark cabin of the car's interior, "Erin, you are _utterly_ charming."

"Am I?" she plays it sultry again, dropping her voice a little. She's playing a part—the ingénue that he's picked up at a bar. What would it be like to be seduced by a man like him? She lets her mind linger on the notion. It's a joke, between her and her less impulsive self. Sure it is, but she's feeling reckless and follows it through with a little, "You know, we wouldn't have to go to Canada to do something crazy…"

"Erin…," Robert gives a calm, all-knowing sigh, and lingers on her name for a moment. He can turn any name into a sonnet, just by wrapping his lips around it and she feels herself shiver at the way his voice plays on those two, short syllables.

He lets the idea simmer but then takes it away. His tone is inscrutable but his words are clear, "I'm a ride you would not survive."

 _That's probably true._ If she was a little more sober, Erin might hear the not-so-subtle warning in his tone. But with the taste of gin martinis still lingering in her mouth, she hears only a dare. A challenge. And for someone who rarely takes risks, a challenge currently seems too exciting to pass up.

She could use some excitement in her life.

Turning away from Robert and looking out her passenger side window into the night-clad streets of Scranton, she watches the girl in her reflection gently bite the bottom of her gin-laced lip, considering…

For now, she says only, "That's my house on the right."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This is where things start to slide into AU-land. Though Angry Andy isn't really a stretch, to be honest. Warning to the diehard Andy fans out there…he doesn't come off great in this chapter.

Your faves/comments make me smile! And haha glad I'm not the only one who thought this pairing might be a good idea :) More to come Xo

 **Chapter 3 – Sidewalk Skirmish**

Robert's walking a dangerous line. He knows but doesn't care. This is who he is and it's far too late to change now.

But he was serious when he told her it wouldn't work. He's in the middle of a divorce. She's in love with Andy. And despite Drunk Erin's absolutely fascinating and alluring character shift, Sober Erin is still far too sweet and naïve for a man like him.

He'll ruin her. He might even enjoy ruining her. He'll twist her up until she doesn't know who she is any longer. He might even think he's doing her some good, breaking her out of that bubble of naivety and gullibility that is going to ruin her eventually anyway. There's no question. Erin could use a little instruction on life and…other matters. But he knows himself—he knows he has a tendency to corrupt the pure mind just for the sake of doing it. It's a pastime. Some men golf, some men play mind games. And misery loves company.

 _Oh, how it loves company…_

But again, he's not a monster. He has his limits and bedding Erin would definitely be testing those limits.

Of course, if he's serious about it, he probably should leave her curbside with a quick wave and friendly goodnight. Instead, he decides to walk her to her front door. He's grateful for the way the evening played out and feels a need to thank her for it. He tells himself he's being gallant.

"Erin, it was great fun tonight," he says, honestly, taking her hands congenially and pressing her palms, before bringing his hands up to cup either side of her face briefly. She looks like she's suppressing another grin but accepts his hands warmly and as seriously as she can, given her inebriated state. He's glad she can suppress that pretty, little smile. One more smile might just change his mind.

"Me too," she answers, leaning into a friendly, drunk-warm embrace that he finds himself initiating, despite all his many reservations. He mentions something about aspirin, water and getting some rest. His intentions are pure, he would swear it.

He can hear his ex-wives laughing at the notion…

But that's when Andy shows up, walking up the frosted sidewalk in a heated manner, still dressed in his ridiculous Santa suit, face as red as the color of his velvet, fur-trimmed coat. Meredith's van is parked a few houses down, lights off but engine running. Andy's curbside parking job was made hastily, poorly and shows he's got other things on his mind.

"Erin, can I speak with you?" he demands, in a strained voice that Robert has heard only a few times before—whenever Andy Bernard is anxious, whenever he's out of sorts or whenever he's walking that thin line between rage and restless energy.

Andy has a major anger problem that surfaces every once in a while. That's common knowledge around the office. Robert hasn't seen it firsthand yet and wonders if the reports in Andy's files are exaggerated. _Punching a hole in the wall? What does that accomplish?_ He assumes he'll find out if the reports were accurate in the next few minutes.

Erin pulls back from Robert's embrace slowly. Her name falls off Andy's lips as a semi-whine before it registers in her ears. She keeps her arms loose around Robert's neck for a much longer moment than she might have, taking them down with dragging reluctance, her features suddenly hard and her glance flickering from Robert to Andy.

She bites back whatever the first words on her tongue might have been. She shifts her shoulders, fidgeting. She shakes her head, "No, I have nothing to say to you, Andy."

"Well, I have some things to say to you—"

"Did you follow us here?" Erin demands, catching sight of Meredith's van. She's frowning darkly, obviously unhappy with the idea.

"I…look, I had to," Andy stumbles on excuses. "You said some things tonight that just aren't acceptable and I'm not happy about it. Jessica's my girlfriend. You have to learn to live with that that. You can't just—"

"God, Andy, I get it," Erin groans, rolling her eyes. She's sobering again. And she's not in the mood to be sober. She continues in a testy, almost sarcastic tone, "Jessica's great, whatever…"

"No, _not_ 'whatever'," Andy replies hotly. "Jesus, Erin—she deserves your respect."

"I think I should…perhaps—" Robert begins, taking a step backwards towards his car. But Erin reaches out and takes his wrist, rooting him to the spot beside her on the sidewalk.

"Andy, just go," Erin says, shaking her head, irritated by his presence. She shrugs, "I don't understand why you're even here."

"To get an apology!" Andy fumes, as if it's obvious. As if demanding apologies from an ex-girlfriend at one o'clock in the morning is completely normal behavior. Erin laughs, but it's a laugh devoid of any humor.

"I'm not going to apologize for _anything_ ," she says, releasing Robert's wrist to cross her arms over her chest, defiantly.

"Jessica deserves an apology!" Andy won't let it go. His eyes are wild and he looks like he might reach out and shake the apology out of Erin. There's a tenseness and erratic vibe to his movements that makes that outcome more likely than perhaps it should be. Robert senses the tension and takes a step between Andy and Erin, thinking he might defuse it.

He puts a calm hand on Andy's shoulder, squeezing slightly. He keeps his voice level and practical, perhaps even paternal, "Andy, Jessica's not even here. She doesn't need an apology. Let's let Erin get some rest…"

Without warning, Andy hits Robert square in the face with his right fist. Erin's eyes go wide and a quick gasp escapes her lips. Her hands go up to her mouth before quickly reaching out towards Robert, who has stumbled back on the force of Andy's blow.

"Ow," Andy shakes his fist out, having glanced off Robert's cheek bone.

"Son of a bi—" Robert's hand goes to the side of his face, the split crease at the edge of his eye, and comes back with blood on his fingers. He looks back at Andy incredulously, mouth agape, stunned nearly silent.

"Andy, you hit him!" Erin is shocked too but manages that at least. She's tugging at Robert's arm, turning him towards her, as her hands drift up to the wounded side of his face, examining the narrow gash made by Andy's fist.

"I…," Andy begins, blinking in confusion at his own actions. He looks dazed, even more than Robert, who took the punch.

"Andy!" Meredith's voice suddenly cuts through the night like a foghorn. She's crawled up to the driver's seat of her van and is leaning out the window. She lays on the horn once, before cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling out, "Come on! I gotta get to my kid's school early tomorrow for some parent-teacher thing."

While Erin runs her fingers delicately along the side of Robert's throbbing cheek, Andy dashes off to Meredith's van without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I originally planned on posting this and the next installment as one chapter but it ran a little long so I've split it into two parts. I won't make you wait very long for the second part. I'm hoping to update tomorrow but definitely Sunday at the latest. Haha yay for self-imposed deadlines!

To those reading, commenting and favoriting (is that a verb?) - mwah! You're the best :)

 **Chapter 4 – Gin & Whiskey (Part 1)**

"Sit here," Erin tosses her wool coat over the arm of the couch in her small, comfortable living room. She drops her house keys in a shallow bowl beside her landline and bounces away to the bathroom down the hall, saying, "I'll get some antiseptic for that cut."

"It's not that bad," Robert answers, as he takes the offered seat on the sagging couch. He sinks onto her sage green cushions wearily, still trying to make sense of what just transpired on the sidewalk outside.

With a sigh, he cranes back his neck, resting against the sofa board for a moment. But he cringes as his hand inevitably drifts up to the cut near his eye again. It's an odd cut to be made by a fist, too uniform in the way it sliced open his skin. He asks aloud, as a half-hearted joke, "Are Andy's knuckles made of brass? Or some kind of titanium alloy?"

From down the short hallway, he hears a medicine cabinet opening and closing, with pill bottles jostled around. She walks around a second hallway to an adjoining room. Another set of cabinet doors open, from somewhere in the dark kitchen. He can hear the telltale sounds of glass bottles clinking against one another.

"It was his Cornell class ring," Erin answers matter-of-factly as she re-enters the room, frowning with heavy disapproval—at Andy, at his alma mater, at _anything_ to do with him. She slides around the squat coffee table and gingerly steps over Robert's sprawled legs, flicking on the desk lamp perched on the end table. She reaches under the rose-and-cream colored lamp shade and clicks the switch clockwise twice, casting a soft orange glow on the room. The light turns her hair a deeper shade of auburn and Robert finds himself reminded of the scarlet color of sugar maple leaves fluttering to the ground in late autumn. Erin's shaking her head ruefully, still thinking about Andy and mumbling, "He never takes the damn thing off."

She brings antiseptic…and a bottle of scotch whiskey. She sets the whiskey down on the coffee table and takes a seat on the cushions beside him, her nylon-clad knees bumping against his as she inches up closer and beckons him near. The frown on her face softens, giving way to plain concern.

"Let me see," she says softly, sliding her finger across the top of the unscrewed tube of antiseptic. She rubs the smooth, translucent gel between her thumb and first finger. He sighs and sits up while she gently applies the ointment, her fingers brushing against the side of the cut with a gentle, cool touch. Still, it stings and he cringes again, sucking in a quick intake of breath, even under her careful ministrations.

"Sorry," she mutters, adding, more to herself than to him. "I can't believe he hit you."

"Not the most intelligent career choice," Robert agrees wryly, though he can psychoanalyze Andy well enough to know that this wasn't about him at all. The cut on his face is the collateral damage of some classic repression on Andy's part. Jessica has little to do with any of it. Robert, even less so. The simple fact is Andy still wants Erin…or at least wants Erin to want him.

And maybe he's just in a sympathetic mood, but Robert can certainly understand the wanting part.

"Are you going to fire him?" Erin wonders, her thumb smoothing down the gel along the length of the cut, following close beneath his eyebrow. Her other fingers have casually drifting beyond his wounds, stroking the untouched skin near his hairline.

"I don't know," Robert replies truthfully, leaning slightly into her simple caress without meaning to. He's currently too fixated on the color of her red hair and the way it frames her comely face to make employment decisions. As she leans closer to him, fussing with the gash left by Andy's ring, her hair falls near her eyes and he has an idea that he might reach up and tuck those wayward strands back behind her ear. They're sitting close enough that all he would have to do is reach up and take it…

What did he say to her earlier in the night? _You could take it or leave it. To take it would be to accept that you're an adult woman with an adventurous spirit…to leave it would be fine too._

He knew she would take it. Or did he? What exactly was he expecting to happen if she did? He honestly can't remember now. It was a moment in time, a stitch in the fabric of their lives. Of course, he didn't think that deeply about it when he said it. He was in a dark mood and in need of distraction.

Fast forward a handful of hours later and he's _very_ distracted. She holds his attention like a moth to a flame and he's not usually one to leave the flame untouched. Admirably, he shakes the feeling off, turning his attention away from her pretty features with effort. Instead, he reaches up and pulls her wandering hand down to rest between both of his own. He pauses briefly before forcing himself to say, "I should go, Erin."

She ignores his words and continues to examine the cut critically, pursing her lips briefly, not really pleased with her efforts. Meanwhile, his fingers have curled themselves around her thumb and are tracing the lines on her palm. He has no control over his own fingers and they play him false too easily. Erin's glance slips down to their tangled hands and then up again, to meet his gaze directly. His eyes meet hers, wondering at her thoughts.

He doesn't have to wonder long. The purse of her lips melts away and she smiles again, just one too many times—raising her eyebrows once and tilting her head towards the whiskey bottle on the coffee table, as a not-so-subtle invitation.

"C'mon, Robert, we deserve a night cap after all that," she begs, quickly adding, "And it'll make the side of your face feel better."

"I don't think that's a good idea…"

"Good ideas are for all the hours before midnight," she argues, allowing her left hand to join the others, reaching for the watch band on his wrist and twisting it face up. The time reads 1:33.

 _Play time,_ her coy expression speaks for her. She then reaches for the bottle of scotch and unscrews the top nimbly, with one hand, as if she's opened that bottle the same way a thousand times before. But he knows better. "Just one…"

"I drove here…"

"I'll call a cab," Erin has an answer for everything.

His face hurts like hell. It'll bruise and, by morning, he might even have a black eye for his trouble. And Erin's grinning again—the little minx. She's drunk but he swears she knows what she's doing. At the very least, she's _very_ aware that she currently has some mystical power over him. Oh, he can see it in her foxy little smile. And she certainly knows what she wants.

She knows how to get it too.

The bittersweet smell of scotch whiskey lingers in the air pleasantly and he's run out of excuses. While keeping his steady gaze locked with hers, he takes the bottle from her all too willing hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** And here's the promised update (and the part of this story you were probably waiting for) :) I still have a short "morning after" chapter to post sometime (maybe this next week?) and that will be the end of this ever-so-random Robert/Erin fic. _However,_ if you liked it, be sure to let me know because I enjoyed writing this one and wouldn't be opposed to continuing it if there's enough interest. Mwah! Xo

 **Chapter Five – Gin & Whiskey (Part 2)**

"Just one" turns into a few more. She guessed right with the scotch. Obviously, he likes it. Almost as much as he currently likes her. He drinks more than she does. She lets the buzzing hum of sweet inebriation simmer, allowing him to catch up. Oh yes, Erin knows what she's doing. And _oh yes_ , she knows what she wants.

"Erin, here's something that's been bothering me…," Robert sets the bottle aside, his speech not yet slurred but certainly a little smoother than usual. And his voice is always _so_ smooth. It holds a patrician tone, with that ever-present hint of wildness, turning erotic at the _slightest_ provocation.

Erin loves his voice. She loves the way he says her name.

His hand slides off the whiskey bottle smoothly and comes to rest on her knee. His thumb brushes against her skin…or would, if those pesky nylons weren't in the way. He takes a pause, as he usually does, before meeting her gaze directly, with those eyes that she would swear are peering right through her, down to her naked soul. It's both terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

He asks, "Why do you always strive to do and say whatever you think others want to see and hear? You don't have to please everyone all the time, you know."

"I know that," she answers, bristling just a little but then giving it back to him. "Why do you pretend that nothing bothers you? You do all these impulsive things—buying companies, marrying beautiful women. It's all supposed to make you happy, right? But you end up just as lonely as when you started."

Robert's expression registers a measure of surprise at her insight. He's not used to being read like a book. He appears ready to deny it but then changes his mind. His lips curl up in a sad, semi-grin, "Touché…but you didn't answer my question."

She shrugs. There's a lot she could say, about the glum parade of orphanages and foster homes that cluttered up her childhood landscapes and how adoptive parents aren't looking for kids who aren't already perfect and how foster parents want kids that are pleasing and well-behaved and how doing what _she_ wanted wasn't ever really an option…but she doesn't want to think about any of that. Not right now.

She says only, "I'd rather people think I'm stupid than unpleasant."

"You're not stupid, Erin," he exhales the words, voice lingering on her name again. He takes his other hand and raises it to where her loose waves of red hair have draped close to her eyes. With a subtle, seductive motion, he brushes the nearest strands back behind her ear, letting his fingers run all the way down to the ends.

Then slowly, taking his time, he leans in and kisses her. It's a slow, sweet kiss that she's not expecting. She doesn't pull back but she doesn't answer the kiss either, not immediately, letting his lips caress hers—once, twice. He teases her with that kiss, before taking it away. He draws back only a few inches and those blue eyes find hers again, weaving a spell around her so easily.

His entire focus is on her, prying deeply beneath the surface but in a way that makes her _want_ him to pry. She would give up all her secrets if he asked. With one piercing look, he makes her feel like she's the only woman in the entire world. No Jessicas to be found anywhere. Just her. Only her. And god, she likes that feeling.

She lets him kiss her again. This time she finds her arms sliding up around his neck and into his hair. His hand wanders a little higher than her knee, while the other slips around her waist, tugging her closer. She kisses him back, her lips parting as she pulls back only briefly, not in hesitation but rather, in anticipation. She goes back for more. His teeth gently slide over her bottom lip before his lips come back down on the curved slant of hers and she finds her breath catch a little as his tongue slips into her mouth and tangles with her own.

The first kiss is followed by a few more. Erin sinks against the green throw pillows and the sage cushions, drawing Robert down with her by the lapels of his blazer. She's suddenly very glad she switched out that old, ratty, orange couch when Reed finally moved out. It had straight, hardwood arms that would have made a make out session like this far less comfortable.

His kisses have moved to her throat, starting near the pulsing vein at her collar bone to trail up to just behind her ear lobe. With Andy, she would be giggling at this sort of thing, the sensitive skin behind her ears too ticklish to be touched without batting him away. But Robert knows what he's doing and she's not giggling. She turns into his sensuous caress, a slight, soft smile stealing over her features.

She currently can't remember Andy's name. Or where she works. Or what she originally thought might happen tonight. Not really. Right now there's only room for one thought in her head—that Robert California is kissing her and that she's kissing him back.

Her arms are twining around his neck again, his are wandering down from her waist to run along the curve of her hip. She finds herself bringing her leg up along the side of his, their lips locked again for what feels like hours, exploring, charging, draining, exhilarating. His kisses are both hot and dangerous, especially with his body pressed so close to hers, polite space between them a distant, dull memory. She answers his kisses out of natural impulse, playing at techniques that are new to her, but somehow feel right and familiar, as if she's born to kiss this way and just has never been given the chance.

She's always been a little worried that she's not a great kisser. _I mean, no one's ever said anything one way or another,_ she concedes to didn't have many opportunities to experiment with boyfriends when she was a teenager. She was moved around so often so it was hard to get close to anyone and honestly, no one wanted to date the ginger-haired foster kid.

But Robert's not complaining. She even hears him give a little moan of pleasure as her teeth lightly nip at his bottom lip, mouth opening a little wider, begging for more. His grip on her tightens slightly, his hands pressing into the soft skin at her thigh before pulling her still closer.

Coming up from a deep kiss, they switch positions. She takes the lead this time, gently pushing him back to a sitting position and then impulsively straddling him, swinging her leg over his and finding herself perched snugly in his lap, green skirt bunched up to her thighs, knees pressed into the soft fabric of the back of the sofa. His blazer comes off with her help, her hands running up his chest to his shoulders, lifting it off and down his arms.

She slips off his glasses, wanting to see his eyes without those lenses between them. He doesn't protest as she folds them carefully, reaching behind her and placing them next to the half-empty bottle of scotch. When she turns back, he's watching her movements with the same fascination that has captivated him all night. His hands are resting on her hips, holding her in place on his lap, waiting for her to make her next move.

Her hands return to his chest, tracing delicate lines along his ridiculous tracksuit. He matched a blazer with a tracksuit? God, he's a mess, isn't he? Hmmm, but so's she. _Darkly erratic,_ that's how he described his mood to the cameramen at the office. _More like darkly erotic._

 _No less than you, Erin._

They're talking with their eyes now, the charge between them sparking wildly.

 _And all's fair in love and war, right?_

 _Undoubtedly…_

She plays with the zipper of his tracksuit, bringing it down further with nimble fingers, letting her hands explore the bare skin and his chest hair beneath. But the cusp of whiskey is still on his lips and she wants to taste it again. She wants to taste it _all_ night. And she can tell—he's run out of reasons why this is a bad idea. Need and want are too convenient and he's easily swayed by their influence.

Erin's happy to see lust veil his eyes as he tips his head slightly and moves his mouth just a little, gaze tilted up towards her in that same old teasing manner, waiting for her, daring her to follow through.

"Well, Erin…?" he asks, as if he's the CEO of Sabre, waiting in the conference room for her to give him a fax confirmation, instead of the man on her couch, waiting for…

She takes his dare. Her hands are still planted on his chest. With a wide grin, she brings her mouth down to his. Her strands of red hair fall on either side of his face as her hands move up to hook around the bottom of his jawline, her soft, gin-flavored lips opening on the potent taste of whiskey lacing his. The kiss deepens and they spend minutes in it before coming up for air. His arms have slid up again, settling around her slim waist, sneaking up beneath the fabric of her shirt.

When his hands run over her bare skin, she catches fire. Red, red fire—as red as her blouse, as red as her hair.

He helps her strip off the red blouse over her head, to reveal a sheer white camisole and pink lace bra peeking out beneath. The camisole joins the blouse on the floor within a few moments. Her hands slide back down to his chest, her fingers working at the zipper of his tracksuit until its run its course and then further down, to slide the buckle loose from his Italian leather belt.

 _An Italian leather belt and a tracksuit…really, Bobby?_

She would tease him further but there's no time. Their mouths find each other again by instinct, this time more insistently, less tease, more need—hungry for more.

They make it to her bedroom sometime around 3:30.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Yikes. So this week definitely got away from me. Anyway, finally getting around to posting the final chapter of this fic. As promised, short and sweet! Well, maybe not for Andy… ;)

 **Chapter 6 – The Morning After**

When Andy gets to work the next morning, Erin isn't sitting at reception. Her jacket isn't on the coat rack. Her car isn't in the parking lot.

The office phone rings and no one answers it.

Meredith drags herself in around quarter after 9, with dark shades on and that perpetually sour look gracing her haggard, hungover features. The parent-teacher thing didn't go well. Not that she was expecting it to. Her son's a menace. As she walks by reception, she notices Andy staring at Erin's empty chair. He's impossible to miss.

 _Oh, I see._ She manages a lecherous grin, as only Meredith can.

"Well, I guess we know the end of _that_ story," Meredith lifts her dark sunglasses briefly to wink at her dumbstruck manager before trudging around the Jim-Dwight-Pam island to her cluttered, messy desk.

"Mornin', Creed," she greets the old man across the desk, slipping off her coat and reaching over to set up her first solitaire game of the day with a quick mouse click. It's the first icon on her desktop, arranged in order of importance.

"Hey, Molly," Creed answers without looking up, already chowing down on the mung beans that are scattered in the desk drawer to his left. Meredith doesn't correct him, sliding the sunglasses up into her greasy hair while squinting through the pain of daylight, ready as she'll ever be to start the day.

In the meantime, Andy can't stop looking at Erin's empty chair. He cuts expectant glances towards the front door every other minute and the clock keeps ticking away—first one hour, then another.

She doesn't appear, no matter how long he waits. Eventually, he gives up, returning to his office with a small whimper and shutting the door tightly behind him.

* * *

Erin groans when she wakes up, burying her head against Robert, with her red hair falling across his naked chest. She should have pulled the damn shade before they fell asleep. Crazy bright morning sunshine is streaming in across the blue floral quilt and her head is throbbing like mad.

The aspirin bottle on the nightstand is open, tipped over even, and sitting beside a glass of water that's half empty. She remembers downing a couple pills, at Robert's suggestion. And honestly, she could feel a lot worse, considering the copious amounts of alcohol she put away the night before.

But still, that damn sun can go to hell.

Wearily, she crawls across Robert to reach up and pull the shade half a foot lower, plunging the bedroom back into sweet semi-darkness. He mutters something in half-sleep but she doesn't catch it, waiting until she settles back down, rolling back into his arms, finding the same comfortable spot where she fell asleep after all that…activity, before mumbling quietly, "What was that?"

"I said, good morning," he answers, without opening his eyes. She tilts her chin up slightly, her arm languidly sliding across his chest to rest up by his shoulder.

"How does your head feel?" she wonders, curious.

He grunts a reply. Despite the fact that a little demon is taking a pickaxe to her grey matter, she nearly smiles. She turns her head back down and snuggles closer to him. His arms give her no protest. The bedroom is chilly, even under the quilts. December in Pennsylvania isn't exactly tropical. And she forgot to turn up the thermostat when they got in last night. But Robert's body is warm and the memory of what they were doing a few hours before turns her pleasantly flushed all over.

"I'm glad," she teases with a satisfied sigh, letting her own eyelids slip down again as she chides him half-heartedly. "You shouldn't have kept pouring me those drinks."

"Par for the freaking course," he mumbles some more, sleepily, repeating his words from yesterday. But this time sans the sharp, bitter edge. Now she does grin a little, but secretly, down in the cocoon she's made for herself.

How things change from one day to the next.

"We're going to be late to work," she adds, not needing to open her eyes and check the time. It's at least past ten and probably far later. That damn sun has been up for hours.

"Don't worry, Erin," Robert answers, his left arm curling around her waist, keeping her in place, content to linger in bed for a while longer. "I know the owner."

She smiles once more, at her name, at his voice, at the man in her bed, absolutely content to do the same.


End file.
